Cruel Angel Theses

never was there a question of depth and importance

When I was younger, I would watch all sorts of Hong Kong dramas with my mother, in the process attaining a sizeable Cantonese vocabulary in the same manner that an otaku does a Japanese one from watching anime. One drama in particular brings back memories of her crying, for the protagonist in question was an often abused and mistreated servant girl whose predicament was undeniably heart-rending, with the occasional tear-jerking scene milked for all its worth.

Naturally, my brother and I made fun of her for it, albeit behind her back, for this was our mother, all things said and done. Not in that vicious teasing way that little kids do, but more of more like a hushed, embarrassed, nudge-nudge-wink that defied words. It’s appropriate that I recall this little anecdote before anything, for a decade or so later I find myself questioning the entire crying thing, and how fictional works inevitably possess the power to drive us to the brink of sorrow and back.

I’ve definitely cried a fair bit at the shows I’ve seen. This self-awareness only came about recently as a result of my discovery of Kanon and Air as the infamous “crying anime” series, and piqued my curiosity. What other shows seemed to do as a by-product of their being excellent, these ones tried to do from the outset. I was sold on Kanon, gagged at Air’s contrived carbon-copy nature, and entered Clannad with my fingers crossed.

answered with such simplicity and poignance

Fuuko’s arc is finally over and done with: the second longest arc after Nagisa’s, and maybe the most appropriate one for KyoAni to first animate. My initial misgivings about her being Ayu Mach II post-revelation were put to rest, and while I didn’t exactly use up all the tissue in my house soaking up buckets of tears, the arc was an overall success. It could be due to how less is more, in this case. The focus wasn’t on the dramatised departure we all saw coming, or a decisive, climatic, emotive moment — the approach here was more holistic than anything, which helped immensely.

What I mean here by holistic is the way in which Fuuko’s arc carries itself with dignity, even in its final moments. There isn’t a sense of her being a moe puppet orchestrated solely for the sake of viewer endearment, and even the inanimate object she carries around as a means of identification has a purpose, even if it is more sad reminder than anything — her carvings are proof that she once existed, despite everyone forgetting about her. It’s tangible, and even if nothing of her memory remains, the effort still stays. Those who once knew her as an astral projection can almost imagine, if for a fleeting moment, what she was like.

while Kotomi decided to question her very existence

One-fifth of Clannad is now over, and like the memory of Fuuko, I can now vaguely imagine what exactly Key and KyoAni are trying to achieve. Like how Kanae notes in Cosmonaut from observing Takaki, Key has its eyes set on something higher. My guess is that Key didn’t just want its fans to bawl their eyes out for a moment; it wants its characters to be taken seriously, to the point where they’ve finally developed and the tears come naturally, not as a result of being caught up in the spur of the moment or being showered in maudlin emotion.

KyoAni deserves special mention here for their excellent work on the adaptation so far, going from a by-the-book process with Kanon 2006 to a more natural, less stilted approach that has the entire cast interacting naturally with each other, even if it wasn’t the case originally. It should be noted that Nagisa isn’t alongside Tomoya in the final scenes of this episode, which means that Fuuko’s last moments are made all the better with her non-canonical presence.

Nagisa failed as far as Devil’s Advocates were concerned

But what can be considered canon at this point? While Tomoya did wake up alone in the classroom instead of with Nagisa resting on his shoulder, I’ve always thought that this arc meant to highlight Tomoya and Nagisa’s mutual chemistry, unconsciously mimicking a family through their care of Fuuko — having Nagisa alongside Tomoya while he wept at the wedding and during Fuuko’s last moments in the classroom improved, rather than detracted from the original. By capturing the spirit of the original while bringing something new to the table, KyoAni just scored a home run for the team.

If this arc is anything to go by, I would even go so far as to compare Clannad’s emotional intensity to that of Darker than Black, the only other anime this year which really possessed a strong measure of pathos. Throughout the eight episodes or so I’ve begun to view Fuuko as more than just another contrived effort to squeeze my tear ducts dry; her passing was made tragic not by virtue of its context — a crime Kanon 2006 was discharged of not amounting to acquittal, and Air guilty beyond a reasonable doubt — but by virtue of her being a lovable, forlorn figure that you just didn’t want to see leaving at the inevitable end.

For what it’s worth, I started tearing up when I realised that this was it, that her work was over when she began talking quietly to Tomoya, as if taking her last breath. It wasn’t an outright sobfest like I heard many people degenerated into towards the end, which only goes to show what Key and KyoAni respectively have managed to find: the perfect balance. They’ve realised what makes or breaks it isn’t how much saltwater you can wring out of a person in one sitting, but the way in which it’s done. There isn’t a harping on its theme; Fuuko’s fate is open-ended for the time being; “astral projections” now mean more to me than just a plot device used to reduce grown men to a snivelling wreck.

I’ve mentioned in my other post that Fuuko was “Ayu done right”. I arrived at this conclusion from how Ayu, while not as two-dimensional as her detractors might lead you to believe, still used the Cry Now aesthetic more than was comfortable, and the problem with her doing so was that it left an imprint on the more discerning viewers, which meant that the same trick wouldn’t work twice (I’m looking at you, Misuzu).

Fuuko was Ayu with a purpose. Her astral projection had meaning and depth that anyone could relate to — who doesn’t want to be forgotten? While Ayu says “please forget about me” and works as a dramatised moment, Fuuko does the exact opposite, and it works better than Ayu ever could since it clicks; its relevance to even the most cynical and hardened viewer means that it was a battle won on several fronts, a victory of the head and heart. Wasn’t this concept of memory and humanity previously explored in DtB? Her seemingly futile struggle spoke volumes to me, especially on how we create so those left behind will remember us when we’re long gone. Even if Clannad goes down in flames later, I’ll remember this one arc, and how even starfish could be existential, given the right context.